


With the Exception of You (I Dislike Everyone in the Room)

by PeopleCoveredInFish



Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Drabble, Future Fic, M/M, New Year's Eve, these trash children
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-02
Updated: 2014-01-02
Packaged: 2018-01-07 03:47:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1115110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeopleCoveredInFish/pseuds/PeopleCoveredInFish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's New Year's Eve, Hanamiya Makoto is a literal piece of human garbage, and Imayoshi wants in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With the Exception of You (I Dislike Everyone in the Room)

**Author's Note:**

> warnings: alcohol consumption and references to alcohol abuse  
> thanks to [redheadscientist](http://archiveofourown.org/users/RedheadScientist) for the prompt!

He’s never been much for eves—the preludes to Christmas and New Year’s have given him the slip as often as not, slick with 90 proof vodka and crusted vomit and it’s all the same when you’re waking up at the bottom of a dumpster. Still, he thinks as he lifts his head from the edges of the cardboard packaging that has molded itself to his skull during the early hours of the morning, this was actually one of the nicer receptacles within whose confines he’s had the pleasure of regaining consciousness.

“Wasn’t even rusty,” he murmurs later that night, and his companion graces him with a glance that, were it courtesy of anyone else, might be indicative of puzzlement. But this is Imayoshi Shouichi, master of mind games and his long-suffering former senpai, and tonight he’s left the second button of his shirt undone, which Hanamiya will admit—through clenched teeth, and only after another three shots of whiskey—is liable to reduce his Imayoshi-reading skills by at least thirty-seven percent.

Imayoshi brushes a finger along the glazed wooden surface of a side table; lifts it to inspect for traces of dust. It’s a familiar trick. “That must’ve been a treat,” he says, letting the words fall slightly flat, and it takes a second for Hanamiya to recall bringing up the state of his latest dumpster.

They’re standing on the margins of what passes for a living room in someone’s downtown Tokyo apartment, appreciating what might be a luxurious view of the city skyline if not for the steady expanse of brick wall pressing in from the building next door. It’s five minutes to midnight. Imayoshi slides his lips into a level two smirk—level one being his default expression—and gives the table a commiserating pat. “Good footholds, then?”

Hanamiya allows himself a snort at that. Of course Imayoshi doesn’t give him anything back, not even a twitch of his eyebrow, but it’s against Hanamiya’s nature to work against excess. “Stepped on a mini-fridge and hauled myself out.”

Apparently this is a satisfactory answer, because Imayoshi nods towards the center of the room, where people are starting to pair off. It’s Imayoshi’s university crowd and certainly no one Hanamiya played in high school; being at present hale and not in the least indisposed, current state of slight intoxication excepted, after thirty-three minutes of mingling.

“I’m probably going to kiss you at midnight,” says Imayoshi, mild as the sake he’s sipping straight from the bottle, “if that’s alright.” 

Hanamiya feels his brainstem dislocating from his spinal cord. “Button your fucking shirt,” he mumbles, throwing back the shot he’d been saving to greet the new year.

He wins a chuckle for that, and he can’t even bring himself to care that it’s not a win at all, not when Imayoshi’s hand is moving across his lower back, drawing him in until he can see the stitching along the front seams of Imayoshi’s shirt. Someone’s started a countdown and Hanamiya’s ears flood with numbers; Imayoshi’s other hand brushes across the join in his jaw and slips around to cup the back of his head. Hanamiya’s kissing him then, three seconds to midnight, his hands sliding into Imayoshi’s back pockets so he can pull their hips together. Imayoshi is smiling against his mouth and the muffled burst of fireworks from across the city sounds like the symphony of the court and its spectators and Hanamiya doesn’t want to let go.


End file.
